


Scientific Method

by mary_pseud



Series: Damnatio Memoriae [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Body Horror, Brain Surgery, M/M, Mad Scientist, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Serial: s078 Genesis of the Daleks, Torture, sensory play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/mary_pseud
Summary: Davros is a brilliant scientist, but some of his experiments are so grotesque that he can trust only his most loyal follower, Security Commander Nyder, to assist him...





	1. The Experiment

Supreme Commander Davros was not only the greatest scientist the Kaled race had ever produced; he was also one of the race's greatest medical accomplishments. A life support chair kept his remaining organs functioning, and replaced those damaged or destroyed by the atomic blast that had also cost him his legs, one arm, and his sight and hearing. What was left of Davros was a shrivelled husk of a man whose immense intellect served a single purpose: creating the weapons that would end the war forever. He had his own laboratories, his own Elite research scientists and security forces. And he had his theories, some of them too world-shattering to be revealed to anyone but those under his total control.

Davros wheeled into the main laboratory of his underground Bunker and scanned the steel-clad room with his vision implant. The scientists in their crisp white laboratory uniforms were busily working to bring his plans to life. Guards stood at every doorway, machine guns ready. And the Elite Security Commander was sitting at his desk, intent on his reports - for a moment only. Then he rose to his feet, his complete attention on Davros.

Security Commander Nyder was sleek as a stiletto and just as deadly. He had served Davros with fanatic loyalty for years, and his coldly controlled voice featured in the nightmares of many Elite personnel. He was skilled at leadership, strategy, espionage, torture. And he was completely ruthless in carrying out Davros' will.

"Nyder, I require your assistance with an experiment." Without saying another word, Davros turned and left, confident that Nyder would follow him.

In the corridor, Nyder spoke. "Will you require recording equipment, Davros?"

"No. The experiment will be conducted in the Interrogation Centre. There is ample recording equipment there."

Nyder's narrow face showed no reaction. He followed Davros to the Interrogation Centre, where part of the experiment had apparently already been installed.

It was a man. A Kaled, from his appearance; pale and dark-haired. He was fastened to one of the vertical restraint racks, straps holding his slack limbs in place. Two of the standard interrogation kits were in place beside him, heavy wheeled cabinets with open drawers of excruciatingly non-lethal tools. Also beside him was a piece of machinery that Nyder did not recognise: a square metal framework layered with circuitry boards and fans, clearly a hand-assembled prototype.

A thick cable wound from the top of the unknown machine and apparently wrapped around the man's head. When Nyder looked more closely, he realised that the cable was actually fastened to the man, sunk directly into the middle of his forehead. Nyder could see sutures around the edges of the hole that had been cut into the skull, and the jagged pink of freshly broken bone. The man was breathing as though conscious, but his face was blank. He was stripped, but not shaved; his skin was wet, and the sharp smell of disinfectant alcohol hung around him.

"I am evaluating a series of instruments that allow a direct transfer of nerve impulses from organic tissue into circuitry," Davros rasped. "It is a refinement of the sensors used to activate prostheses. If the tests are positive, the new equipment could be incorporated into the travel machine project."

Nyder grew more intent at those words; according to Davros, the travel machine project was of paramount importance. "What do you require me to do?" he said, every word as sharp as one of the scalpels lying in neat arrays in the drawers around the limp subject.

"We need to stimulate the subject's nervous system, and evaluate the fidelity of the transference of nerve impulses."

That seemed straightforward enough. "I presume we are not using the electronic interrogation devices because they only excite the nerves carrying pain."

"Precisely, Nyder, precisely. That was well-stated. Yes, we need to stimulate the full range of sensation."

Nyder raked his eyes over the interrogation kits, the spreaders and crushers and needles, already mentally repurposing them. "Does the experimental equipment need to be calibrated?"

"It needs to be connected." Davros moved forward and placed his chair parallel to the framework of circuitry. "You will wire the transfer components directly to my chair."

Nyder's eyes grew a fraction wider behind his rimless glasses. "Is that-"

"Safe, Nyder?" Davros' voice was soft. "This is only a translation of sensation, filtered through my chair's systems. I assure you, I will not be harmed."

Nyder obeyed, of course: he carefully plugged in the equipment, made sure the cables were properly seated in their sockets, and made triply sure that the power system was completely separate from Davros'.

Then he stood and regarded the prisoner. He had not seen the paperwork for the transfer. "Who is this?"

"It does not matter. I told Dome Security to look in the detention cells and pick out someone healthy. Someone in good physical condition who could stand extreme stress." Davros could not physically shrug, but his tone was dismissive. "Considering how much brain matter my surgeons had to remove, he isn’t much of anyone now." He made a dry sound that was almost a laugh.

Nyder dismissed the man's origin from his mind. He could have been arrested for anything from food hoarding to treason, but at this point his previous identity was irrelevant. He would not be leaving the Bunker. Instead he turned to the interrogation kit at his left, and thought. He decided to start with a baseline test.

He picked up a prickler wheel, a handle bearing a rotating disk edged with fine needles. He pressed the wheel to the subject's right thumb pad, and rolled it back and forth.

"Can you feel this?"

"Yes. Continue," Davros ordered, and Nyder did.

He rolled the wheel slowly over the subject's palm, then raised it over the restraining strap and touched it to the forearm. He moved it slowly, up along the arm, noting in passing the excellent muscle tone and scattered black hairs, until he reached the shoulder. He paused for a moment.

He had been planning to roll the wheel back down the same arm, but he felt a sudden impulse. Davros was quite still in his chair, his mouth barely open. Nyder slowly moved the instrument across the collarbone, seeing the fine line of red indentations it left behind, dots that faded almost at once. He crossed the arch of the throat, very slowly, but too soon he was at the top of the left shoulder.

He paused again, and his gaze went back and forth from the subject's arm, a standard well-formed masculine arm, and then to Davros. To the shrivelled stump under his black medical tunic, pinned to his left side.

Davros looked as though he was about to speak, but then he froze, speechless. Nyder was slowly, slowly rolling the wheel down the left arm, and Davros was feeling it. Feeling the sensation in the flesh he no longer possessed, the touch on skin that was gone, and when the prickler wheel was slowly tracked along each finger on the subject's left hand, Davros visibly shivered with excitement.

"Satisfactory, Davros?" Nyder asked this softly, dropping the instrument into the steriliser bath almost reflexively. He hated it when prisoners got infections and died unnecessarily, and he had not heard from Davros how this subject was to be handled after the experiment.

"Excellent. Proceed." Davros' words were snapped out, but there was a hint of throatiness to his voice that made something in Nyder quiver in anticipation.

He proceeded.


	2. The Results

Some sensations were easy: pressure, pinches and taps along the subject's limbs and torso. In Nyder's capable hands, the drill motors became massagers, scalpel blades drew delicate lines of cold across bare skin with their backs, and the many-tailed whips were clenched tight to tickle with just the tips. He stimulated the subject from scalp to toes, but concentrated on the areas that corresponded to Davros' amputations. The subject did not react, except to twitch and drool a bit. Davros' reactions were more subtle, but definitely positive.

Eventually Nyder ran out of equipment that could easily be used in this new fashion. He stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do next, one hand on the subject's chest.

His hand. He looked at it, as though he had never seen it before.

Nyder was on duty, therefore he was in his military uniform. Black jodhpurs and jacket, high black boots, plus tight black gloves. Normally when he was performing an interrogation, he would change his leather gloves for rubber ones. But in the process of starting this particular experiment, he had not done so.

Davros was feeling this touch now. He was feeling Nyder's gloved hand, as if it was touching his own body.

Nyder was trembling as he raised his other hand to his face. With quick jerks of his teeth he pulled off the glove on that hand, not caring when a seam ripped as he worried the little finger free. His bared hand was heavily grooved with old whitened scars. He touched that hand to the subject's left shoulder, slid his sweating palm against the man's skin - and was rewarded with a long, low sound that could only be a moan from Davros.

Now Nyder had the tools he needed: his own bare hands. He touched and then he caressed, he fondled and cupped and stroked, he used his fingers and his fingertips and his nails and his palms and his arms, and he stood on tiptoe to blow in one ear and then direct that jet of air down, down the throat, down the chest and lower…

The tile floor was hard under his knees, and the subject's drool spattered distractingly on his forehead. The taste of salt-sweat and alcohol, hot flesh in his mouth, as he thought of Davros, Davros feeling this, Davros feeling every intimate attention that Nyder could give him. He worked, hard, with lips and tongue and grazing teeth, and eager fingers stroking what he could not take in, and he thrilled to the sounds of Davros' laboured breathing, and his little inarticulate cries.

When Nyder was done, he knelt back, catching his breath. His hands were grasping the subject's thighs, clutching at them to hold himself upright. He looked up at the lines of the man's body, already planning what he might do next.

"Harder," Davros spoke unexpectedly.

Nyder blinked. It - the subject surely was beyond any response. At least, not the response Davros seemed to be requesting.

"Your hands. Harder. I want to feel!" and Nyder squeezed, watching the skin whiten around his fingertips, paying no attention to how scars bunched and puckered across the back of his hands. He squeezed, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to send his nails cutting through the skin.

"Harder. Use the equipment!"

"Davros…the pain…"

"I want to feel it. I want to feel everything. Now do as I command!"

As eagerly as Nyder had caressed and sucked, now he cut and burnt and peeled and tore. He used his hands, still bare, and the scrapers and the gougers and the clamps, and the electrodes, and the acids, and the hammers, and he might have used his teeth at one point or another. He wasn't quite sure. He was in his own world where there was nothing but skin and bone breaking under his hands, and Davros' gasps of pleasure - the pleasure that Nyder was giving him. Of having flesh again, of feeling again.

When Nyder finally noticed that the subject was dead, he nearly wept at the thought that the experiment was over. He collected himself, turned to Davros, staggered and fell to one knee. He had exhausted himself in that tightly focused frenzy of torture and destruction, as gruelling as any marathon exercise session. Breathing deeply, he looked up.

Davros' face was immobile as ever. His damaged skin could not sweat, but there was a certain set to his mouth that told Nyder that he had pleased his leader very, very much.

Davros' sole hand rose from where it hovered above his chair's controls. Slowly, painfully, it folded itself into what might be a pointing gesture, and moved until it was aimed at Nyder's torso, or a little lower.

"Surely you will not be returning to duty in that condition."

Nyder looked down and twitched. At some point during his exertion he had stripped out of his jacket and put it aside; just as well, he would have ruined it. His arms were wet with blood and other fluids, his black undershirt clung to his chest like a second skin. And he had unfastened his jodhpurs, which hung open. His state of arousal was quite prominently on display.

"I - no, Davros," he half-whispered, his neck flushing with embarrassment.

"Then take care of it." Davros was still, not moving, just sitting there. Watching.

Nyder felt emotions boil within him: excitement, fear, shame, awe. He carefully put his knee on the floor and got his balance back. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch Davros, touch his chair, or his hand. Touch his ancient and twisted hand - but he did not dare. Davros was never touched, except out of medical necessity.

He freed his erection, and took himself in a familiar grip. Staring up at Davros, he started to stroke, feeling the skin move under his fingers as he squeezed. He squeezed hard, staring at Davros, his Commander, his leader, his protector, the focus of his life, the saviour of his people, the centre of the universe around which all should orbit in homage…

It took him only a few moments to bring himself off. It felt like his own soul was shooting out of him, spattering as an offering on the floor before Davros. He did not close his eyes, even at the peak: he wanted to see, to lock that face in his mind and associate it with this ultimate pleasure for the rest of his life.

Without a word, Davros backed his chair away. He touched a switch, and the cables that tethered him to the experimental equipment popped from their sockets. He moved to the door, and then paused.

"Clean yourself up. Arrange for the room to be cleaned and the subject moved to Dissection Room Two. I will wait for you outside." The doors opened and he rolled out.

Nyder splashed some water on his face from one of the sinks, and washed the worst of the bloodstains from his arms. His undershirt was a total loss, so he dropped it on the floor and put his jacket on over bare skin. He carefully pulled his gloves back onto his hands, making a mental note to get a new pair. He left the room as it was: the opened interrogation kits with bloodied instruments piled in chaotic heaps, more instruments scattered across the floor and stacked in the overflowing steriliser baths, and the subject hanging from the restraint rack. There was a constant drip-drip-drip sound as various liquids ran down the drain set into the slightly concave floor.

Davros was waiting in the corridor. Nyder did not address him; instead he went to an intercom set into the opposite wall. He thumbed the button that would connect him to Security.

"Is Scientist Hif still on discipline detail?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," came the slightly tinny reply. Hif had been caught dawdling during a scheduled inventory, and was being punished for it.

"Send him to the Interrogation Centre. He is to clean the entire room, and that includes all of the equipment. Once he is finished, he will wait there until I have inspected his work."

"Yes, sir." Nyder broke the connection and turned to Davros, perfectly calm and composed now. There was a bit of marrow stuck to the lens of his glasses; he saw it and carefully brushed it off.

"The results of this experiment were very promising, Nyder." Davros' voice was the same flat rasp as always, but there were hints of emotion in the way he held his head, in the pauses he took between words. Hints that Nyder was acutely sensitive to. "I am pleased that the transfer equipment performed to my projections. But we must be certain. Once you transcribe my findings, and edit an appropriate compilation of the recorded information, the experiment will have to be repeated."

"Repeated, Davros?"

"Repeated. Multiple times." Davros moved down the corridor with Nyder following, past a younger scientist pushing a white cart laden with mops, buckets and bottles of cleaning solution. Hif turned his scowl away from them, going into the Interrogation Centre.

Nyder paused after the door shut, just long enough to confirm what he thought he was hearing: that the first thing that Hif was going to be cleaning up was his own vomit. Then he went on, following Davros as obediently as a shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, there are many people in wheelchairs or otherwise handicapped who share fulfilling sexual lives with the people around them. Davros, however, is not one of those people.   
> The electronic interrogation devices are used in the original serial.  
> The prickler wheel would on Earth be called a Wartenburg wheel, used to test reflexes in a medical setting, and also for stimulations of other sorts.  
> It was deliberate that as soon as Nyder picks up an instrument, the focus of the experiment turns from 'the man' or 'the prisoner' to 'the subject.'  
> This story can be fit nicely before the canon Fourth Doctor episode "Genesis of the Daleks"; in that story, Davros does have equipment hooked directly to his chair so that he can control it.

**Author's Note:**

> "He proceeded" was simply too great a point for a chapter break to resist. I apologise if anyone found it gratuitous.


End file.
